In college, I fell in love with the theatre. I was a young man who had grown up in a United States Navy family and chosen a small Jesuit college to attend. Somehow, the fact that I was sexually attracted to other boys was not a reality I was ready to face, but I had to find some small way to rebel. I found it on stage. In college I played a king, a duke, a minister, a teacher, a traitor, a bridegroom, and a sea captain. At the time, I thought I had what they called "range." Maybe I did. And it’s also possible that in my short eighteen years, I had become an expert in being something, anything other than myself.

At twenty-three, I played an openly gay man on stage for the first time. I was still telling myself I was straight, but by now no one believed me. The play was Wendy Wasserstein’s The Heidi Chronicles, and the director was Fay Jacobs (who some of you who read this publication may be familiar with). I was a little nervous about playing the role—not about playing gay—somewhere in the dark recesses of my denial, even I knew that playing a homosexual wasn’t going to be that big of a stretch for me. In fact, after years of trying to "butch it up" to convincingly play a string of heterosexual roles, I was looking forward to relaxing.

But I was nervous because the role required me to cry on cue. In my last scene was the scariest stage direction I’d ever seen: "Peter weeps." During the rehearsal process, I asked Fay, "What if I just look really sad?" At that point, Fay gave me the best direction I’d ever received. "Just listen to the words you’re saying, Eric. Don’t just say them—really listen. And whatever happens…happens." And I listened. And I cried real tears, every night.

I don’t know if you know this, but actors are terrible liars. People are always trying to get me to play practical jokes on mutual friends; they figure that since I’m an actor, I’d be good at it. But actors don’t lie: we tell the truth.

At twenty five, when I finally came out of the closet, I became a much better actor. Being honest with myself and everyone else gave me access to my emotions in a brand new way. I approached acting differently. Rather than focusing on the things about my character that weren’t me, I looked at each role and tried to find Eric. Now that I knew who Eric was, I found that he had a lot to offer me as an actor. My performances became more truth than fiction. When I performed I wasn’t escaping myself, I was learning about myself. Since coming out, I’ve played a priest, a working-class husband and father, an artist, a housewife, a terrorist, a U.S. Senator, and a Hell’s Angel. It wasn’t always easy finding a piece of me in these people, but I usually succeeded.

On June 24, I’ll be in a play in Rehoboth, playing another openly gay man—four of them, in fact. As a companion piece to her successful production of The Vagina Monologues, Fay is directing a three-man version of The Only Thing Worse You Could Have Told Me, Dan Butler’s one-man show about gay life in America. And I share many things in common with these characters, much more than their sexual orientation. They’re proud, and insecure. They want to be happy, but they’re all a little sad. They’re funny, but they don’t always get the joke. They’re beautiful, and flawed—just like the rest of us.

I’m thoroughly enjoying getting to know these men, and the lessons they’re already teaching me. The other night, I was telling friends about the show, in particular about one character named Derek. If I knew Derek, I’d probably describe him as an "opera queen," and he’d probably take it as a compliment. I told my friends how much I enjoyed playing him, but that they shouldn’t worry; I would also be playing more masculine roles as well. And then I heard Fay’s voice in my head: "Listen to the words you’re saying, Eric." And I was embarrassed by what I just said.

The next night, I was looking at my script, and I took notice when Derek said to me, "It’s not an act. This is who I am, and if you don’t like it…"

So yes, I’ve come out of the closet. I’m honest with myself and I say I like myself. But how much of myself am I still ashamed of? Apparently, the part of me that can camp it up and be a little girly is still not entirely welcome at the party. But thanks to Derek, I’m appreciating that side of me a bit more than I used to. That’s a lesson for me.

So if you’re in town on June 24, I hope you’ll see the show. One cliché about actors that is true is that we’re notorious hams who live for applause. So there’s that. But more than most of the plays I’ve performed, I really want people to see this one. I want you to meet Derek. And Leslie, and Dan, and the nameless neurotic I play in Act One. I feel very close to these guys. They’re me.

Eric Peterson lives in Washington DC and is a frequent Rehoboth visitor. The Only Thing Worse You Could Have Told Me will be performed at the Rehoboth Beach Convention Center at 4 p.m. and 8 p.m. on June 24. Tickets are $20 and can be purchased by calling Sussex County AIDS Council (SCAC) at 302-644-1090, or CAMP Rehoboth at 302-227-5620.